A HAND in the DARK-A Twisted Bit of Unfunny Comedy
by Lady Amaryllis
Summary: Just what the title says. ^_^ What happens when the FOTR gets stuck in a rainstorm? L/A Slashfic! Weird, weird, weird...PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!


ARGH! I feel myself slipping back into one of those post-fic-reading writing fits...save me....

  
  


Standard disclaimers apply. 

  
  


I received a request for a sequel to "My Everything" and I'm seriously considering writing just that....oh, yes. TF 3. When am I going to get around to it? Probably never. Can't remember to bring the blasted floppies. Urgh. 

  
  


Characters: L/A, S/F, M/P. Unrequited G/B. *cackle* 

Warnings: slash, humor, romance? Brace yourself. This is an extremely strange fic, and that there's an understatement. 

Notes: None, really. *shrugs* 

  
  


Poo. Ideas escape me at the moment. So...maybe it's not a post fic-reading writing fit. It just felt like one. 

  
  


Hm. 

  
  


A HAND in the DARK: A Twisted Bit of Unfunny Comedy By the Lady Amaryllis

  
  


What little sunshine we had been lucky enough to have had earlier in the day had nearly vanished by afternoon. The sky was a bleak, dull grey with fat black storm clouds looming ominously overhead. 

I forged a path through the thick undergrowth, hacking away with my sword at anything that blocked my path. My eyes scanned the surrounding forest anxiously, for I knew that we needed shelter from the oncoming storm. The idea of getting stuck in the midst of a raging storm did not appeal to me. 

If only to spite me, thunder growled low in the distance. I grit my teeth and hacked viciously at a dead bush that wasn't really blocking my way at all. 

"Strider," came a tentative call from behind. It was Sam. 

"Yes?" I asked, sighing in exasperation. 

"Well, I just figured that since the storm is coming...." He hesitated, absentmindedly fiddling with the fraying ends of his cloak. 

"Out with it," I mumbled. 

"There was a cave a couple hundred yards back. I was wondering if we should spend the night there." 

"Oh. Oh, yes, we should," I said, blushing. How...degrading. Outdone by Frodo's clingy little pet. [A] "We'll go back, then." 

Trudging to the end of the line, I began crashing back through the forest the way we'd come. Frowning, Legolas eyed me suspiciously. 

"Well, come on," I said, just a tad too harshly. Without a word, everyone with the exception of Gimli followed after me. He plodded along at the rear, grumbling in Khudzul. 

Sure enough, a couple of hundred yards back along the path, there was a small cave. Its entrance was almost hidden by a clump of bushes and vines of ivy. It would have to do. 

"We'll stay here," I announced. As if on cue, the first of the raindrops began to fall. 

  
  


As it turned out, the cave entrance was actually the opening of a short tunnel that sloped down gently and opened into a spacious underground chamber. I set my baggage down with a weary sigh and peeled off my gloves before sprawling out on the floor. 

"I gather there will be no hot food tonight," said Legolas. He plopped himself down into the dirt beside me and dug around in his bag for a bit. 

"A pity, really," commented Sam. "I'd been planning to make Lembas and Ham tonight." He fussed over Frodo for a few moments. 

"Please, Sam. I'm alright," insisted Frodo. 

"But Mr. Frodo, there's a piece of grass in your hair....." 

"It's fine, really." Frodo swatted him away and curled up on the floor. 

"Hey, Frodo," Pippin said. 

"What?" his voice was slightly muffled. 

"I can see up your nose. There's *things* in it, you know." 

Boromir froze in mid-pick and turned away, muttering something about "grass and shit" always getting stuck in his mustache. 

Thunder rumbled loudly and the cave grew pitch-dark. The storm was upon us. 

"Hoy," Boromir said, for no apparent reason. "Hoy hoy hoy." 

"Hoy," I said. There was a Hand on my leg. 

"Hoy," Boromir said again. 

The Hand crept upward. It was far too large to be that of a hobbit, and I prayed with all my might that it wasn't Gimli's. 

Argh! No, please don't touch that....

I sucked in my breath sharply and grabbed hold of the Hand, which thankfully did *not* belong to Gimli. 

"Aragorn." 

"Legolas," I said, letting go of his hand. "What is it?" 

"I'm scared," he murmured softly in elvish, "of the dark." 

"You are?" Frodo asked from the other side of the room. 

"He's what?" Pippin asked. "Gay? 'Course he is. Everyone knows that. Strider, too. He told me so at the-!" 

There was a loud sound of flesh contacting flesh, which would most likely be Merry slapping Pip across the face. 

"Shut up," Merry said. 

"Hoy," said Boromir. 

"Aragorn," said Legolas. 

"What?" 

"I'm scared." 

"You've nothing to fear," I assured him, groping in the dark for his shoulder. "Hoy," I said. I'd found his face. Gods, it was so soft, so smooth.....

A small tongue of flame flickered to life on the other side of the room; Merry had lit a candle. 

Pippin let out a low whistle. "Getting frisky there, are we, Strider? Hey! Ouch!" A red hand-print marked the side of his face. 

"Shut up," said Merry. "You earned that." He ignored Pippin's whining and set his candle on the ground. 

I snatched my hand away quickly, feeling my face begin to heat up. 

"Aaaugh!" Boromir let out a strangled yell. "Gimli, get off me!" 

"Hoy," said Gimli. He clambered off Boromir's chest, blushing furiously. Boromir glared at him icily. 

"Aragorn," said Boromir. 

"What is it now?" I asked irritably. 

"Gimli peed on me," he said. 

"Did not!" the Dwarf protested. "'Twas Sauron." 

Frodo sat up and sighed. "Fine, Sam. Pick the blasted piece of grass out." 

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo." Sam delicately plucked the rubbish from his master's hair and was swatted away once more. 

"Rainwater is flooding the cave," Legolas said softly, edging a bit closer to me. 

Merry held up his candle and revealed a small stream of water dribbling in along the bottom of the tunnel. 

"Shit," I said. 

  
  


Over the next half hour, the rain intensified a good bit and we were all forced to our feet as more and more water rushed in. When we were nearly up to our ankles in water, Boromir suggested that we all go outside. 

"Have you gone mad?" I queried. [1]

"Well, look at it this way. If we go to sleep in here, we'll be drowned by morning. If we go out there, then we'll get soaked, but at least we won't wake up and have to swim out of bed," he said. 

"He's right," Legolas said. By this time he had nearly wrapped himself round my arm, which was slowly growing numb. [2]

We trudged out into the storm like a troop of bedraggled rats and shoved most of our baggage into the hollowed-out trunk of a large tree which was, to our great dismay, far too small for any of us to fit inside. I stood shivering beneath the relatively useless shelter of the tree, already thoroughly soaked. 

This, however, was not the end of our troubles. Lightning flashed overhead, threatening to strike. 

"We should go back inside," Boromir said. He scratched himself through the sopping-wet fabric of his pants. 

"Would you make up your mind?!" I screamed. 

"The cave's probably filled to the top with water, anyway," said Legolas. He had calmed down a good bit and was playing with a soggy rat he'd found scurrying around on the ground. "Just get your things out of the tree, and we shouldn't have to worry about anything." 

Frodo, who had until this point been leaning lazily against the trunk of the tree, got up and joined our conversation. Sam followed behind, having found a large leaf and struggling to hold it over Frodo's head. Needless to say, Frodo was less than pleased. 

"Sam, love, I won't melt," he said. 

"But--!" 

"Go see that Merry and Pippin are alright." 

"Yessir, Mr. Frodo, sir." Sam, always delighted to serve, trotted away happily. 

I eyed him strangely. 

"Don't mind him," said Frodo. "He's always been like that. Ever since we were children...." A wistful look crossed his face. 

After that, everyone seemed to have forgotten what they'd wanted to say, so I wandered away from the bunch. 

"Keep your blasted hands to yourself, dwarf!!" Boromir literally screeched. The sounds of a brief scuffle followed, and then all was silent. 

"Aragorn," said Legolas, suddenly appearing at my side. [3]

"Hoy," I said. "I didn't know you were following me." 

He stepped closer and studied me carefully. In the dim (dim, dim, dim) moonlight, I could see that his hair was pasted to his skull, that water was dribbling off the end of his nose, his clothes clinging tightly to his lithe frame....

Ooooh. Yummy. 

"What are you looking at?" I asked. 

"I...." He hesitated. Could it be? 

"What?" 

"I...." 

"What?" 

"I...." 

"WHAT?!" 

"The rat bit me," he said finally, dangling it in front of my face by its tail. It squeaked softly, rather dejectedly at me. 

"Oh." 

"...Aragorn?" 

"What?" I did not bother to hide my frustration, exasperation, disappointment...

"I love you," he said simply. I goggled at him, mumbling incoherently for a few long, tense moments. Hoy. 

"I love you too," I said at last. I hugged him tightly, smiling crookedly like Elrond after one pint too many. 

He slid his arms round my waist and pulled himself closer to me, our sopping-wet clothes making bubbly squelching noises as they were pressed together. 

The rat squeaked, and he dropped it to the ground where it landed with a pitiful *splat.* It scurried (swam) away through the puddles. 

"Aragorn?" he murmured, letting his dripping-wet head drop to rest on my shoulder. 

"Yes?" 

"What've you got in your pocket?" One of his hands ventured downward, downward. 

"Nothing." 

"Are you sure?" He eyed me suspiciously. 

I swatted his hand away. "Of course I am." 

Back near the tree, Boromir hooted. "GIMLI! GET YOUR GRUBBY LITTLE HANDS OFF ME!" 

"I think we'd better go rescue him," Legolas murmured. 

I shook my head, sending droplets of water flying out in all directions. "Poor soul. Shall we?" 

We broke the embrace and strode back toward the tree, hands linked, and heedless of the freezing rain that still poured in giant bucketfuls from the sky. 

  
  


=End, Sucky, Sucky End= 

  
  


Aragorn's Notes: 

[1] Contrary to Popular Belief, Boromir is not mentally ill. There's a term for his condition. Premature Senile Dementia or something of that sort. 

[2] Not that I was complaining or anything of the sort. It was warm, and the numbness didn't really matter since I'd been sitting on my leg for quite awhile and that was numb as well. 

[3] Elvish Conjuring Trick? 

[A] I say this even though Sam is hardly to be called 'little' by anyone's standards. 

Author's Note: Last-minute editing and the writing of these side notes took place at 12:15 AM. ^_^ I made up Boromir's Disease. Don't have a clue as to wether or not there actually is such a thing. 


End file.
